


As Sharp as a Sword Lily

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, EdelbertWeek2020, F/M, Fluff, Language of Flowers, Mutual Pining, Pre-Time Skip, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: As a child, Edelgard asks Hubert to bring her a handful of sword lilies. Dutifully, he fetches her them everyday, regardless of her presence or absence, and the pain that they may bring.A special upload for Edelbert week, day 5: flowers!
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	As Sharp as a Sword Lily

**Author's Note:**

> happy edelbert week! when i saw the prompts i knew i wanted to do smth for flowers, bc im a sucker for flower symbolism and i love flowers themselves. i actually assign a flower to each of my otps (ex. mercedue are sunflowers; faybin are violets; forbidden ship are forget me nots etc). edelbert gets sword lilies bc they're hella aesthetic but also!!! symbolize strength and morals which if they aint hewb and edie idk who is.  
> and all the flowers mentioned correspond to a character... bonus points if you can figure out who is who!  
> still havent played cf, sorry if things dont sound/look right lol.  
> as always, thanks for reading ❤❤❤

It is a week in to his stay in the Imperial palace when Hubert meets his liege, several years his junior. The title of being her vassal is one that is beaten into him, through lecture and the back of a belt. His father, the Marquis asserts that this will be his lifelong duty, something that he will carry upon his shoulders until the day he dies. He backhandedly adds that this job will be not only his life, but possibly his death.

And Hubert, either wise beyond his years or a fool, agrees to it.

He meets Lady Edelgard in her father’s chamber, with the Emperor in attendance. It is a short meeting, and Edelgard, no older than 6 years, looks upon him with hard eyes and scrunity. Her entire body scrunches up, her nose, eyes, face, hands. Then, it returns to the normal porcelain it is to be.

“You are to be my vassal.” She says, her voice too young to grasp the words of their bond.

“Indeed. I am at your every beck and call.” His father raises his hand from his side, a grave warning to the boy. Hubert quickly catches himself. “My lady.”

Edelgard shifts upon her mother’s throne, it is too big for her. She resembles a discarded doll, but with more structure. Her hands rest on her knees, staring at the boy. “Bring me some flowers then.” She orders.

The Emperor’s laugh fills the audience chamber, the Emperor remarking that she will have him running until midnight. A glimpse from his Father, and Hubert already flinches, turning back to his liege.

“Which ones?” Hubert asks, bowing quickly to spare a lashing.

“Red ones.” She requests. “Like the colour of my dress.”

Out to the royal greenhouse he goes, Edelgard following after him with even steps. The Imperial Palace is in full bloom, the Goddess blessing them with a day’s beauty and flowers. A wall of heat hits him as he pushes the door open, holding it out for her. Edelgard hurries in, correcting herself as well to gaze upon the blooms with a scrupulous eye.

Hubert finds a patch of gladiolus: beautiful, but sharp. Edelgard’s gaze falls upon them, her finger poised above them.

“I want a dozen.”

Hubert reaches for one. The thorns dig into Hubert’s fingers, drawing blood. He winces under his breath, knowing better than to cry out. The leaves scratch at the backs of his hands. He wraps the stems, sharp like needles, in a handkerchief before handing them over to her. Edelgard glances from the flowers then to him. His blood marks the white cloth.

He bows, offering them like he is a suitor, not her vassal. “My lady.”

Edelgard’s small hand wraps around the stems. She gazes at them for a second. One of her tiny fingers runs over a ruby petal, soft and velvety. How different their hands must look: his covered in blood, hers upon something so delicate and fragile.

“I want flowers in my room every morning.” She orders. “Before I wake, no matter the day.”

“As you order.” Hubert says, a bloodied hand on his heart. It will not be the first time he bleeds for his liege, nor will it be the last.

* * *

He brings flowers to her room every night, before she goes to bed. He slips in as her maid readies her nightgown and brushes her hair. When she wakes, she is greeted with fresh blooms. White lilies and matching carnations, protea and purple willows. She looks upon them passively in the morning when Hubert arrives for their morning meetings. However, when he brings gladiolus, her gaze lingers from her tea cup to the blooms upon her writing desk.

It is early morning; she is 8 and he is 11. It has been two years since they met; Hubert still feels slightly uneasy around her, like she is an angel amongst a sinner, or some divine creature before a paltry human. Edelgard, however, has no problem sending him to do her bidding, be it stealing extra cookies from the kitchens or bringing a cat from it’s job in the barn to sit upon her lap. Truly, Edelgard is already a young ruler, though she may not have the throne.

It is around this time that Hubert realizes Edelgard is only a copy of her siblings. Each have a retainer at their beck and call, to do any bidding that is asked for, just as Hubert does. For every imperial child, there is an imperial minister for their work, their duties. A companion, a mirror to the child. Someone to run errands in the middle of the night, someone to complete the duties of the royal child, someone to stand in the shadows and watch the child’s back, someone to take the blows that might kill. A shield to the sword.

Hubert realizes this two years after he meets Edelgard. He is bringing tea from the kitchens to Edelgard’s room. It is late morning, and most of the Imperial children have risen. He passes by the room of Edelgard’s eldest brother, hearing a sweet voice carry on the air.

His eyes flicker in as he passes, observing a woman—whom he knows is of noble birth because of the Imperial house would have nothing less—move with grace as she organizes the eldest’s collection of tomes and spell books. Save for her singing voice, she is silent; her footsteps like whispers of the wind. She calls no attention to herself; not in her dark hair or the black and grey clothes she wears, not in the movements of her body, and not in any manner that she carries herself. She is just a ghost, an apparition of a person.

That is all Hubert is to Edelgard; a mere ghost who does whatever she asks.

The unnoticeable apparitions become very noticeable to him then. Hubert sees them lingering behind the Imperial children as they take their dueling lesions and tutorials; a metre’s length behind their lieges, waiting on them at teatime; lined upon the wall in the shadows at large suppers with the Imperial Emperor and his seraglio of brides, where the empty seats are not meant for them, but instead his late wives.

Hubert is only a pawn to Edelgard. Just as every other retainer like him is to her siblings. Or that’s what he presumes. He enters the room and sets out the tea set on her writing desk. Edelgard is gazing at the flowers he’d left last night, the crystal vase full of sword lilies.

He pours her tea, adds a touch of sugar and milk to it (as she will only drink it such a way) and sits down. She’s still staring at the gladiolus. Hubert’s eyes turn to her. “Why do you ask for them?” He asks quietly.

Edelgard’s eyes flicker from the flowers and to him. She corrects her posture, hands in her lap. “Because I like them.” She says.

“Why ever so?” He asks. “Flowers bloom and then rot and fall apart. They are nothing.”

 _He_ is nothing.

Edelgard’s gaze narrows on him, taking her tea cup and sipping it. Her brows knit, a sign that she hates the taste. Little does he know, she will stop drinking her tea that way for the rest of her days. “Because I like them Hubert. Need there be anything more to it?”

Perhaps there should be, but he knows better than to argue with his liege. Instead he discusses the day’s agenda while her gaze returns to the flowers.

* * *

She is 9 and he is 12.

It is Edelgard’s first official ball, as is Hubert’s first in attendance as the night’s escort. He helps prepare her for debut, winding her hair into a crown. She dismisses her servants, and tells him to run to the garden for gladiolus. She wants some for her hair. The red will make a lovely compliment to her brown hair.

Hubert takes to wearing leather gloves when he pulls—what he guesses is her favourite flower—from the earth. The cuts made are the only ones on the gloves. Little scratches mark the black leather, not enough to tear, but plenty enough so that he feels the thorns on the back of his hands. When his palm is pull of flowers, he leaves the greenhouse.

He returns to her room, clipping away the thorns and using the tips of the blooms to adorn the sides of her face. He lays them out, strategically moving from the left of her face to the right, creating a crown of her hair. In the mirror, she watches him move.

Hubert waves in the flowers with ease and care, primping them so that they only highlight her beauty, not mask it. When he is finished, Edelgard allows him to escort her to the ballroom.

Edelgard looks lovelier than the evening star on a summer’s night. She looks sweeter than the ripest berries in Adrestia. More beautiful than the moon and sun and stars above. Her siblings are announced one by one, upon the large staircase that descends into the ballroom. Edelgard waits on Hubert’s arm, prepared for such a life of luxury and splendour and evenings like this. Below, the other scions are escorted by their own retainers before lurking into the shadows under the arches of the ballroom, not to be heard of for the remaining evening. They will not be called upon, they will not be spoken to by any of the nobility. They will be silent, they will be unseen.

The room goes silent for a moment as they stand at the top of the staircase. The herald, with trumpeters and banners, speak the names of imperial children. Eight descend the staircase, in a perfect winding line behind the balcony that overlooks the ballroom. They are all dressed in fine silks and satins, taffeta and tulle, long ribbons and exotic ties, with chain like gold weighing them all down with responsibilities. Their retainers wear complimenting colours in similar, darker shades, never to call attention to themselves.

Edelgard, the youngest of Ionius’s children to be debuting tonight, will be announced last. Her hand rests on Hubert’s arm, the other one touching the flowers in her crown. They listen as trumpets fill the air and the scions are announced one by one. Their feet movie soundlessly across the carpets.

Edelgard‘s fingers graze a tiny bloom at the top of her crown. “I do not like the way this one rests.” She murmurs, her fingers pulling at it.

“Leave it be, my lady. You are almost to be announced.”

“It is bothering me, Hubert.” Her hand around his arm tightens. “Remove it.”

He glances to his liege momentarily before sighing. Gently, he pulls the gladiolus from the top of her head and hands it to her. “Pin it to your sash.” He suggests, before resuming his former position. Instead, Edelgard turns to Hubert and sticks the flower on his lapel. Before he can remove it—such a sight would draw too much attention to him and make him a sight rather than unseen—the herald announces Edelgard.

“Finally, his imperial majesty’s youngest child, daughter of late Lady Anselma von Arundel, Lady Edelgard von Hresvelg.” The scion ducks her head to the herald before they begin their descent. Gentle claps and soft gasps erupt from the crowd as they appear at the top of the staircase: the court and nobility’s first glimpse of a child, hidden for almost a decade. Hubert escorts her below, his steps matching her in even strides.

There is a momentary pause as they reach the final landing. “Tonight, she is escorted by her retainer, Hubert von Vestra, of the imperial household.”

He feels his heart skip a beat, and then immediately feels his father’s gaze upon him. He will face a tongue lashing for certain, if not for the gaudy flower on his lapel. Edelgard instead holds his arm tight for a moment longer than usual and glances towards his father. The look in her eyes is unmistakable, as if telling whoever looks upon her to stand down.

His father looks away.

Edelgard bows and thanks Hubert for the escort, then moves to stand with her siblings. Hubert slinks back to the shadows with the rest of the imperial retainers, who give him a second glance. The emperor gives a short delivery, a moment of silence for his departed wives and then the ball begins.

Hubert does not ask for a dance, as it would be cocky to do so, incredulous. Instead, he stands with the rest of the retainers, who only move when they are called by their lieges to attend to business. Other noble boys ask Edelgard for a dance, all unworthy of her grace, her stature. Even at 9, she is more graceful than the goddess herself. He watches as a boy of noble standing trips over her foot, a dire mistake.

When he leaves the dance floor, Hubert moves for the first time that evening. He follows the noble brat to out the palace balcony; he is much older than the retainer, but Hubert overpowers him by rage alone. He holds him over the edge, threatening to kill him should he ever disgrace his liege like that ever again. It is the first time Hubert threatens to kill in the name of his liege; nor will it be the last.

The noble promises not to even glance at her without the highest regard. Hubert lets him go and returns to the ball, as if nothing happened. The rest of the night, he watches his Edelgard from the shadows.

* * *

It is dawn. Too early for any young boy like him to be awake.

But he is, and the other retainers are too. The palace is alive at such an ungodly hour, only on the idea that their lieges are leaving. Some for diplomatic missions out west and east, some to the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach, finishing school for some and simple sightseeing for the the younger ones.

That means Edelgard is leaving.

They guise it as education, a finishing school of sorts. Or so her uncle, Volkhard von Arundel, says.

Hubert does not trust this man. There is something in his eyes, something that suggests he doesn’t care if she lives or dies; that she is merely a pawn to the lord, just as her mother was.

Hubert prepares her bags as she sits upon her bed. Neither know how long she will be absent for or when she will return. It is barely dawn and both children are more awake than ever. With her bags readied, one in his hand while the others are carried down by stewards, Edelgard, grabs his hand.

“I want some flowers. I want some gladiolus.” She says, her voice soft and desperate.

He can run. He drops the bag and pulls his hand from hers. The retainer runs to the greenhouse, as fast as his feet can carry him. He almost breaks the fragile glass door trying to get inside and falls before the patch where the gladiolus grows. His hands find a final gladiolus, the rest all picked.

He elates, knowing that Edelgard will be pleased. But when he returns, his hands bloodied and scratched to all holy hell, her carriage, with her inside, is gone.

* * *

Three years pass.

She does not return.

Hubert brings flowers to her chamber everyday, just as he did when she was here. His heart is heavy with an ache, an absence between his skin, ribs and muscle. It still beats, keeping him alive with only the thought of her return; but there is no relief to his heartbeat. There is only more worry after each thud, extended suspense that lingers for years to come. 

Her room remains unchanged, save for the changing of flowers, dusting by the maids and the non-existent fire that remains ready for her return. At night, when he cannot sleep, Hubert may slip in there, pretending that Edelgard is still around, that she is calling him in the night to ask him to steal a sweet from the kitchens for her or retrieve another blanket from the linen closet.

But the bell to her room never rings, nor does her voice carry through the hall. there is only silence. 

Three years pass.

Hubert does not leave the imperial household. He waits for her return. in the time that passes, he keeps her chamber just as it was the day she left; the sheets perfectly pressed, the vase full of flowers, her agenda prepared on the desk with the day's duties. Nothing changes, except for one thing: the gladioluses refuse to bloom in the greenhouse. No matter how tenderly Hubert attends to them, they only wither and die.

He brings rain lilies instead, their perfume heavy and thick in her unused room. Time presses on.

* * *

Her hair is partially white. Like the fairy tale of the princess with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood. Like the fairy tale of the huntsman who kept her safe. Like the fairy tale where she fell into slumber for ages-long, until she was awoken with a kiss. From the crown of her head to her shoulders, the colour is snow white; past her shoulder blades and to her waist, the colour is the mousy-brown he'd known all his life. It is jarring.

Edelgard returns, now 11 years old and years beyond her knowledge. Her heart is colder and hardened. She is no longer a playful trickster, no longer eager to play. Instead she only longs to work.

The rest of the Imperial children either do not return from their departure. Those who do are sickly, becoming ghosts themselves before passing on. Their retainers are released from their duties, though Hubert recognizes their faces--although more sullen and wracked with grief--often around the palace. None can seem to let go of their lieges, their purpose gone, revoked, void.

Hubert does not know what has been done to her, but something _has_ changed, and not by her own volition.

He brings roses to her room the night that she returns. The maid combs her long hair, white as the moon, into a chignon. It is still jarring to him, unused to the shade and still thinking she is the posey, mousy-haired girl from three years ago. There are still long strands of it, more towards her ends.

“Stop staring Hubert.”

“My lady,” He apologizes, bowing quickly. The maid leaves quickly, the door shutting behind her.

“Did you bring me flowers?” She asks.

He nods. “A fresh set. Red roses were in bloom.”

“I do not mean that.” She says sharply. “I meant the day before I arrived.”

She refuses to acknowledge her absence. Refuses to talk about it. But Hubert sees new scars upon the back of her hands. All day they were hidden by a pair of white gloves.

He nods again. “I did my lady. Just as you asked.” He says. His voice drops. “I have since the day you left.”

Her hands reach for an ornate hair clip upon her vanity. Hubert fans the flowers out upon the mantle before stepping closer. Her hands raise behind her head, holding out the clip to be used. Hubert sees the scars running further down her night robe.

He takes the clip from her, gathering her white hair in his hand. It is still soft, silken but it is different in some minute way that Hubert cannot grasp.

Then, in a sudden movement, she’s holding his hand in a tight clasp. She forces a pair of scissors into his hand. They are heavy.

“Cut out the brown.” She orders.

“Your father said otherwise about it.” Hubert says.

“And I am telling you to cut it out, Hubert.” Edelgard’s voice is harsh, commanding. There is no trace of kindness in it anymore. There never really was when he was younger.

She sits down on the stool of her vanity. Her hair falls out of it’s chignon, the colour shifting from the mousy brown that Hubert knew well as child to white.

The scissors are heavy in Hubert’s hands. He does not relish in the feeling. The power he has.

“I have white hair now.” She orders, as if it will change his opinion, his roaming thoughts.

“What would the Emperor say?”

“I do not care what comments the Emperor has to say. I have white hair now and you will cut it for me.” Her voice softens in tone. “Or I will do it myself.”

Hubert runs his fingers through her hair, smoothing out the flyaways as he cuts out the brown of her hair. The edge of her white locks barely meets her shoulders. He throws the brown pieces in the fire, the flames up the pieces of what was left of his Edelgard.

* * *

Sweat beads off her brow, running along the curve of her face and dripping to the ground. She has been training since dawn’s light, the afternoon sun burning through Hubert’s clothes. Edelgard refuses to stop for a meal or even water, dedication burning through her body with intensity.

When Hubert asks if she will take tea, she responds that she doesn’t have time for such a frivolous thing. His mouth shuts, watching as Edelgard faces a soldier, bound to her House. She moves with grace, the edge of her hair—now growing _much_ quicker than before—swings behind her and meets her upper back. Such thing would cause only trouble in real battle. Something for the enemy to grasp and tear at; something to cry out at. The ribbon it was tied back in has fallen out, and she hasn’t bothered to replace it.

Her shoulders heave with breath, her steps growing slippery and slick against the soldi ground. Hubert notices right when she’s about to fall; he drops his tome, runs for her and catches her just as she’s about to meet to the ground. He holds her tight, her eyes struggling to stay open.

“I can still fight.” She says, her hand finding the arm that supports her. The soldier runs away for help.

“You cannot, you need rest.”

“Are you truly going to try and hold me back, Hubert?”

“Only for your safety, my lady. I must insist that you rest, if only for a moment.” He holds her tight. “For your safety."

Edelgard stares at him, her lips pursing. “I could have you hanged for disobeying me.”

“I would face such judgment, only if it meant I protected you.” He claims. He holds her violet gaze and slowly lowers her to the ground. Edelgard’s hand catches his, her grip tightening around it for a moment. It lasts only a few seconds, but it makes him flush and shiver.

A cleric hurries into the courtyard, causing Hubert to pulling his grasp from Edelgard’s. He listens intently as the healer tells the princess to rest for the remainder of the day, absentmindedly flexing the hand that she held so tight.

* * *

She is 14 and he is 17 when Edelgard asks Hubert to make her a promise. They are seated outside in the Palace gardens. It is a warm day, the sun hot against the black of Hubert’s clothes. He is not permitted to wear anything else, anything lighter in colour or length. Black is the colour of the Imperial Minister’s household. Black like the shadows, which he hides in. Black like the future he faces.

He also does it out of respect and mourning. The other retainers had been relegated to dark colours; and their lieges are now all gone. If his mistress may not mourn publicly, Hubert shall have to do so in her place.

Edelgard lowers her tea cup. She’s taken to drinking more tea. Says it strengthens her and keeps her awake throughout the day. No more milk or sugar inside; no waiting for it to cool, she drinks it burning hot. He has noticed her energy fading quicker and quicker, but says nothing. Instead, he only asks if he may brew her another cup of the House’s personal brand of tea.

“Will you follow me, regardless of emotion or choice?” She asks.

The answer is automatic, ever ready to serve his liege. Though, now he wonders if it is for the same reason that he was told it was to be for... For duty, for tradition. For adoration. “To the gates of Hell, my lady.”

“Then there is something I must tell you Hubert.” She whispers.

Leaning close to his ear, she whispers the reason why she left all those years ago. Why her heart grew colder. Why her hair turned white. Why she threw herself into training. Edelgard looks unfazed by such a story; Hubert is enraged.

In the back of his mind, he swears vengeance on Arundel. And then, he kneels before Edelgard and vows to never leave her side, unless she orders him away.

Quietly, she remarks that she values such devotion.

* * *

Another ball occurs. She is 17, he is 19, marking his birth. This time, there is no call for servants or maids to do Edelgard’s hair. Instead, she asks Hubert to weave in gladiolus into a crown once again.

He sits with her while she waits in her underdress, a robe over her shoulders. The room is dark as he shucks away the thorns and leaves that will cut her. The blooms are beautiful, but deadly.

“I have applied to the Officer’s Academy for the Black Eagles classroom.” She discloses. Her voice is soft, gentle. It is strange.

“Would you be asking me to apply too?” He asks.

Edelgard nods, her head dipping low. “Enrol with me. I have many plans and I will need your astute tactics.”

Hubert nods. “As my lady commands.” He says.

He stands behind her, weaving the flowers into a crown upon her head. His fingers move slow, checking that the weaves are not too taut, not too severe that they will cause her pain. Her hair slips through his fingers gently, gingerly. She stops, catching his hand.

She pulls a flower from her hair, placing it in his palm. “Happy birthday, Hubert.” She whispers.

He feels his cold heart skip a beat. His hands close around the gladiolus. Slowly, he raises it to his lapel. Her hands guide it in, pinning it to the fabric, just as she did before. And as she did before, when she is announced before the imperial court, he is too.

His heart thunders in his chest for the remainder of the ball. He remains in the shadows, just as Edelgard dances through the ballroom, the last shimmering Imperial jewel.

* * *

The academy accepts the both of them. No doubt his father places pressure onto the board there—it would not do to have the future emperor of Adrestia without her minister. Traditions must be upheld/

The first day Hubert is there, he goes straight to the Greenhouse and plants gladiolus for his lady. He then brings some flowers to her dorm.

It is much smaller than her chamber back in Enbarr, but it works well. Edelgard herself is exploring the Monastery, speaking to the other students of their class—the sons and daughters of the seven most powerful lords in the empire, an exchange princess and the odd songstress. As she returns to her chamber, Hubert is arranging a vase of carnations, the only flowers the greenhouse had to offer. They bring a small bit of light to this dour room.

She stops, stares at him, her lips part. “You still bring me flowers?”

“You commanded me to all those years ago, my lady.” He says. “Place or time that will never falter. You can make certain of that.”

For a second, Edelgard’s lips curve into a smile. She dismisses him a second later.

* * *

They are battling. The field is slick with dirt and blood, making his footsteps weary. Hubert tries to dodge a swordsman’s blade but fails. His blood speckles onto a gladiolus, turning it’s pale petals red. Hubert crushes it beneath his boot.

He calls forth Miasama upon the swordsman, consuming his soul alive in a thick, dark fog. He looks up from the puddle of bones and skin that is his enemy, his eyes flocking to Lady Edelgard.

She is safe, pressing onward without fear or falter. Strong, unyielding, relentless. The last imperial jewel of Adrestia. The noble protector that she has always been.

His heart elates.

His boot meets the flower. It wilts, crumples and dies beneath his foot.

* * *

He loves Edelgard. He is sure of that.

It is a suffocating one, though. It eats him alive, consumes him whole. He eats very little, only drinking coffee and picking at his food. A glance from his lady is all he needs to fill his body and soul.

But a glance can also kill him. His love for her is like an iron gauntlet clasping around his heart and neck. But if it is hers, he would happily bear it all.

He would happily take up the gladiolus he picks for her as a sword. He would bear it’s thorns and sharp cuts in her honour and defence. He would bear all her words, all her orders, even if they are to do unspeakable things. He would pick gladiolus until his hands are raw and scraped up and bear the pain without showing it until she relented.

But she does not requite his feelings. Why should she? He is nothing more than a shadow that follows her, unseen and unnoticed. She is an imperial jewel, a princess, a future ruler. He is nothing. He has nothing to offer her but a small heart that beats only for her.

 _Foolish_. Such thinking will get him killed; that is, if the iron grip of adoration around his throat won’t strangle him first.

They mull over love letters and proposals for her. She laughs quietly at their incredulous nature, their pleas for just a kiss from her lips, a word of her voice, a glance from her eyes.

And silently, Hubert knows that if he spoke of his heart, she would laugh too.

* * *

He holds the poor sap’s head down, his body thrashing. The chloroform on his handkerchief melds into his victim’s lungs, brain. His eyes fight to stay open, struggling against Huber for another moment. Hubert’s grip tightens, and then the body goes slack.

Hubert does as Lady Edelgard wished. A death, not picky in the slightest.

Normally, Hubert does not like messes with death, but something inside him aches. Perhaps it’s because he saw his liege’s gaze linger for too long upon the songstress; a wrinkle of lust in her eyes as they listened to the professor’s lecture.

He felt the grip around his heart tighten, invisible fingers curling into the soft flesh of his neck. So gentle, so vulnerable in so many ways. He half-expects to see dark welts mark his flesh, hidden beneath the collar of his uniform. There’s nothing; the pain only manifests around his neck.

The Monastery clock chimes midnight. No one should be coming for sometime, the grounds having gone to sleep. Still, he cannot be too careful. Hubert hoists his victim’s body over the side of the bridge to the cathedral. It will look like a suicide—should they ever find him.

He slinks back to the Greenhouse to tend to the flowers he had planted. A flame dances in the palm of his hand, lighting the way as he checks on the patch of flowers he had planted. They all look lively and healthy; his hand finds a gladiolus from the garden. It is smaller than the others, having trouble blooming. He’s not bothered when the sharp leaves and thorns prick through his cloth glove. His blood marks the white linen, a release to the pain around his neck.

He gazes at the sword lily for a moment, marvelling in it’s beauty. Then, he notices the flecks of crimson that mark his gloves; a bloody path along the white.

By Lady Edelgard’s orders, they are given to him. These cuts, these wounds, this painful grip that makes it hard to breathe around her. He would bear all her punishment, her lashings, just for one tender touch from her hands. One gaze from those violet eyes that hold him captive. A brush of her heavenly lips against his.

* * *

Her grasp around his heart tightens.

Dorothea teases him that Edelgard is receiving more suitors. Her room floods with flowers over than the gladiolus that he brings her every evening. But he does not stop bringing them to her. Instead he only arranges hers as they always rest upon her desk so that she may see them first thing in the morning.

But when Edelgard remarks on another bouquet, she simply says the flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart. Her feather pen falters as she looks up to him. “Now I wonder. Why do you continue to bring me flowers, Hubert?” She asks.

Her grip tightens, threatening to choke him. “Because my lady likes them.” He replies.

“And what if I said not to bring them anymore?”

“I would understand, my lady’s room is flush with many new blooms from admirers.” Hubert confesses.

Edelgard glances into her teacup. A playful scoff fills the air. “Perhaps I prefer the man who brings them more, not the flowers themselves.”

Her grasp around his heart is ironclad. If he moves she will shatter it.

Her eyes flicker up. “Has my retainer ever considered that?” She asks, coy as ever.

He considers telling her right now. He loves her. He adores her. He would die for her. He would kill in her name. He would perish a thousand deaths for her, if she would only ask.

And she will never do so, because she loves him in the same way.

Edelgard instead taps the desk, for him to lean over her shoulder and gaze upon her plans. “Come, we have strategy to discuss.” Edelgard says. “Will you follow me?”

“I will cut a bloody path before you, my lady.” He promises. And he means it.


End file.
